Give me back the good ole’ days, when I didn’t know I had been a dick, before my eyes got opened wide when I didn’t know I was supposed to think that I was slick. ’cause now there’s nowhere left to run, the drugs aren’t making new connections, copper wire all stripped bare and caked in black, who knew that feeling guilty wouldn’t be so fun. When disassociation was best friend, wide-eyed ignorance was true enough shame comes boiling on like napalm from the surface of a once forgiving sun. So self-important in critique that I’m burying the good parts inside the shit convinced that its still black and white and regardless of the truth, I deserve to be punished. for the right, the wrong, the sick, that stupid mindless babble even my well-intentioned songs. Keep it all so serious now, that panic seems always at the door, instead of basking in the freedom from that monster inside that damaged so much the world. Enjoy the chance to roll again, spin through ridiculously insane normalcy, let feet hit a brand new road and leave behind insecurities, all fallacies–
Despite every frothing nuanced prayer that initializes my psyche, the distorted grimace of broken promises and lost understanding, perched atop a wistful hallucination, a misted and cloaked recollection of the past run doggedly down by the present pretense.
If ever there was something akin more to the listless and forgiving welcome end of the fight with the embittered arrogance of senses beguiled by a world at odds with the wasted conviction that drives each of us to draw determined store each day.
I don’t want to see that shit.
It’s going to remain a figment of some darker god’s plaything.
Poor darlings chained up until the scent of dread and hate and playful desperation and longing and weakness and fear cum resignation. Soaks the fingers loose from greased clasp on steel.
Fucking breaking would be the sweetest of releases.
To find forgiveness in deceit , blunder through fields of denial, laden and swollen deep with the putrid rage at self and world.
Just take one more day beautiful.
I’m begging through this weakness and shame of my indignant mistrust.
Please show me I’m crazy enough that I won’t die in my hate lust that these fears have spawned.
I’ll be your puppy faced joker.
Your sterile cat of misapprehension.
Feed me your sin to mirror mine and kiss these wounds to sew them shut against a clot of your mercy. The sheen was lost so long ago and hasn’t been a clean reflection since you woke me to a world of normalcy bathed in the crackled genius of the wounded.